^ 



POEMS, 



Y A 



SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 



t 1876. ^ 



CHARLESTON, S. C. 

PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL HART, Senior. 

1848. 

OK 






^'% 



■#^ 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 

SAMUEL HART, Senior, 

in the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court for the Southern District 

of New- York. 



EDWARD O. JENKINS, PRINTER, 
114 Nassau St., New York. 



PREFACE. 




A South Carolinian, I present to my fellow- 
citizens the " Firstlings of my Muse," and hope my 
offering may prove acceptable. 

Should the following poems be found only worthy 
of ridicule, I shall have to bear the public censure 
alone, as they were written and are published without 
the advice and solicitations of even " a few partial 
friends." 

I do not design to tell my readers of difficulties 
which beset me, of my *' extreme youth," of the many 
disadvantages I had to contend with in the outset of 
my career as a Poet, as is usual in the apologetic 
prefaces so common now — and through which 
threadbare cloak of humility the vanity of the Bard- 
ling is too perceptible ; a practice which might well 
be excused, if it were the writer's design not to startle 
the reader with the beauties that will shine upon 



IV PREFACE. 

him from every line, but to ask his mercy for the 
many faults that he shall discover as he reads. I do 
not care to make myself appear either a baby or an 
ass on the first page of my volume, to excite won- 
der at my modesty, and admiration of the unex- 
pected bursts of genius w^hich are to follow my 
deprecatory prologue. 

If my efforts are found worthy of praise, it will 
be gratefully received ; if deserving condemnation, 
I can bear it. I prefer honest and decided blame 
to the *' faint and damning praise " sometimes ac- 
corded in pity to imbecility. 

In justice to myself, I must say to those who shall 
seek for classical beauties in the following pages, 
your labor will be lost. The lore of Greece is to 
me a " sealed fountain," and my acquaintance with 
the Latin tongue is very slight. 

" School-helps I want to climb on high, 
Where all the ancient treasures lie, 
And there, unseen, commit a theft 
On wealth in Greek exchequers left." 

Perhaps the thorough scholar, if one shall ever 
read my verses, will detect many metrical inaccu- 
racies, as I have written entirely by ear. 

Where I have imitated, I have taken as my model 



PREFACE. V 

the best dead authors of Great Britain, and not the 
present idols of public adoration, for the very suffi- 
cient reason that I cannot copy what I do not under- 
stand. I have endeavored to portray, in words in- 
telligible to all tolerably conversant with the English 
language, feelings common to mankind until they 
are corrupted by fashion and false systems of phi- 
losophy. (?) I do not expect my writings to please 
the followers of Kant, and the admirers of most of 
our living authors — admirers who can find wisdom 
in what to me is folly, can hear divine melody in 
what to my ear (untutored, I suppose,) is a harsh 
and barbarous jargon. I shall be satisfied if my 
poems are admired and understood by those who 
are not the slaves of German transcendentalism, but 
the children of nature. I would not, if I could, be 
the favorite of a sect, admired by them and unintel- 
ligible to all others. 

" I only seek in language void of art 
To ope my breast and pour out all my heart." 

A reputation, to be lasting, must be based upon 
the-hearts of the many. Writing, to be long popu- 
lar, must wake a responsive echo in the breasts and 
in the minds of men who are what nature made 
them, not in the crooked understandings and maw- 



VI PREFACE. 

kish sentiments that are the growth of the schools, 
seeking to dignify their pompous foolery by self- 
laudations and a sounding name. 

I have felt the passions I have sung. Mine are 
no fabled loves and sorrows. 

It seems to me that the great deficiencies of our 
literature now-a-days are common sense and com- 
mon feeling. We want faithfulness to nature, and 
that freshness of thought and heart which are its 
attendants. We have too much of the metaphysical 
man, not enough of the natural. Whether I succeed 
or fail, I will have the consolation of knowing that, 
small though my abilities be, they have been devoted 
to the cause of truth. I shall feel that I have not 
(as too many do who are my superiors) pandered 
to the depraved taste which is fast taking hold upon 
the public — a taste which, if not soon arrested, will 
render our literature a vast collection of impious 
blasphemies and nonsensical bombast, more worthy 
the inmates of a mighty mad-house than of the au- 
thors who should strive not to tickle for a while the 
votaries of fashion, but to leave to posterity endur- 
ing proofs of the wit and wisdom of our Republic 
during their *' day and generation," of which they 
will be the representatives to the men who will come 
after us. 



CONTENTS. 



An Elegy, 9 

Getting Sober, 26 

Lines on the Death of a Young M.D., . , .35 

To Miss , 36 

Impromptu, ........ 37 

To , 37 

On Reading some Verses, . . . . .38 

An Extract, 39 

Ode to the Winter Winds, 55 

Midnight in a City, . . . . . . 61 

" 'TiS IDLE thus to weep o'eR THOSE," . . .66 

'' I sought her side," ..... 70 

" i saw that form," ...... 74 

Autumn Leaves, . . . . . . 78 

"Though Fate of all others bereaves me," . . 81,^ 

The Hopes of Youth, 83 

Those Rapturous Meetings, 85 

"As A Star to the Mariner gleams," . . 86 
The Wanderer, . . . . , . .87 

" I would ever have thee by me," ... 89 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Farewell, 90 

*' Well, thou art in thy grave, at rest," . . 92 

When Day is fading, 93 

Stanzas, 94 

To Mary, 95 

" The Songs that once could soothe," &c., . 96 

The Falling Star, 98 

The Partings, 99 

'' 'tis pleasant when the loved have fled," . . 100 

Lines, ........ 102 

"Flowers I bid not to grow," .... 103 

*' Like lovely faces beaming," . . . .104 



i^ 



POEMS 



A SOUTH CAROLINIAN 



AM !l3I.Ii(IY 



It is no dream, aud I am desolate. 

Byron : Corsair, Canto I. 



Lo ! in the East a paler day has birth, 
And milder beams illume the shadowy earth ; 
A lighter blue invests the arching heaven, 
Where slanting up the silvery beams are driven. 
Through the dark trunks the reddened moon ascends, 
And from afar her mournful lustre lends — 
Those beams that, softly melting with the gloom, 
Light the lone ruin, stream along the tomb, 
And faintly silver every sable bough 
That waves and wails beneath their ghostly glow ; 
Like the soft light, the sad but lovely smile, 
That memory sheds o'er rapture's ruined pile — 
O'er the dark breast when mournfully she cheers 
Its desolation w^th departed years. 
2 



10 • POEMS, 

Pale, radiant phantom of the buried day, 
Returning o'er his azure paths to stray, 
Like a white ghost that hastens with the night 
To haunt the scenes of innocent dehght ; 
Slow mounts the moon, with an unshrouded ray, 
From drifting clouds that veil'd her dawn with gray ; 
In solemn grandeur rolls along the sky, 
Bathes the steep cliff in softest brilliancy. 
Shoots her long lines of sparkling lustre o'er 
The heaving billows as they clear the shore, 
Whose gloomy shadows slow-retreating leave 
The waves to light they tremble to receive ; 
While far and white, along the heaving sea, 
Floats the arched sail through distance tranquilly, 
And seems, discerned amid relenting night, 
A spirit gliding o'er a waste of light. 



Bright, mournful orb ! whose beams the bosom thrill 
With buried thoughts that through the day are still, 
So softly clear, so beautifully cold. 
They charm and chill as fondly we behold. 
Prompt the mild tear and wake the dead again. 
Soothe the lone heart and wean awhile from pain, 
Light the dark eye and bid the cheek to bloom, 
Warm the fond heart and ope the dreary tomb, 
And woo the while, with their benignant rays, 
Alike to heaven, the spirit and the gaze. 
Lone lovely wand'rer of the nightly skies. 
Oft seen to grief, and dear to weeping eyes, 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 11 

Mysterious charms are in thy silver rays, 
That wake again the scenes of other days, 
And palely gild them as they darkly roll 
In gloomy billows o'er the trembling soul ; 
Mistress of Memory, at whose command 
She calls to life her wan and shadowy band, 
In this lone seat where Melancholy sits, 
Where sighs are heard and dusky darkness flits, 
Wake ! wake around me former shapes of light. 
And populate with ghosts the gloom of night ! 
Lift from its dark estate my wandering mind, 
And gild with light from heaven, serene, refined. 



Twin'd o'er with ivy, yonder lone retreat 
O'erhangs the shore where gloomy billows beat ; 
By cedars shadow'd, now the owl's abode, 
A roofless ruin, once the house of God ; 
Through the rent walls the whistling breezes play. 
And shriek o'er pomp and beauty in decay. 
The moon-lit billows, swelling far and high. 
Flash icy lightning on the gazer's eye ; 
While rolling grandly as the waters swell, 
'Long the rude shore they pour a solemn knell. 
From the dark pines a high and hollow wail 
Moans in the ear and wildly wings the gale. 
Once white, distained, by sable ivy twined, 
That lightly tosses on the lifting wind, 
Gleam the cold tombs of former worth and grace. 
The " silent city " of a mouldering race. 



12 POEMS, 

How sad the scene ! dark-waving heave above 
The groaning branches of the solemn grove ; 
O'er the gray ruin faJls the mournful light, 
The frequent tombs repose in deeper night : 
The moaning wood, the gale that wildly wakes 
Its lengthen'd whistles through the jagged cracks, 
(Its hollow shrieks resounding through the gloom, 
Like Sorrow's wail o'er Beauty's hapless doom,) 
The heaving ocean, the resounding shore. 
That dully echoes to the billows' roar. 
Breathe mournful anthems to my list'ning ear — 
A solemn strain, unto my spirit dear. 
Where yonder narrow and unblighted glade 
Spreads, by the beam in shadowy tints array'd, 
My Anna sleeps — nor monumental fane 
To mark the spot with splendor sadly vain. 
For those the epitaph and lofty stone. 
Above whose ashes watch and grieve alone 
The pompous sorrov/ and the marble cold — ' 
The latest duty wretches wring from gold : 
Hers be yon turf where lingering summers shed 
Their azure blossoms o'er the early dead — 
Where softly fall the pure and radiant rays, 
Like angels watching where the lovely lays! 
The child of nature, every sister bloom 
In mournful beauty droops beside her tomb ; 
And I, the saddest of the weeping band. 
Her death made desolate, beside her stand — 
Shriek, vainly shriek, the name she cannot hear, 
And start as Echo mocks my straining ear. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 13 

Bent by the wind, the azure gentians wave 

In dewy beauty o'er her lonely grave ; 

(For e'en the flowers must wear the hues of heaven, 

Whose gentle being from her dust is given ;) 

And silv'ry beams from islands of the blest 

Serenely brighten o'er her buried breast, 

As though they loved to light the turf where she 

Reclining slumbers, from her sorrows free. 

Fair wanderers from the azure fields above, 

Why wander here like baffled thoughts of love ? 

Dark is the brow whereon, in other days, 

O'er polish'd beauty gleamed your gilding rays ; 

And dim the eye from whose dark flashes stole. 

On nights like this, her rapt, aspiring soul. 

As gazing upward, o'er her dreamy face 

Devotion wafted a diviner grace. 

No more they win, no more on me they dart ; 

Their light is darken'd like my loveless heart. 

Her heart — O God ! — and dare I think what thou, 

Once bright, and fond, and beautiful, art now — 

\Yi'^pt in the sod, that only folds to blight, 

No flower to bless, no beam to break thy night — 

Hush'd in obhvion, where no thought may come 

Of other days, to cheer thy lonely home ? 



As humbled Pride, in days of its distress. 
Dreams o'er its vanished wealth and mightiness, 
Roofed by a hut recounts its former store. 
And half forgets the chill and cheerless floor ; 



14 POEMS, 

So I, as memory renders lost delight, 

May shun the present with averted sight, 

And, half oblivious, as it flies my gaze. 

Transport my spirit to its brighter days. 

And think on her v^ho was their light, their sun — 

My lovely Anna, my departed one. 

Vain is the task, I know, but linger yet 

To brood o'er beauties I had best forget ; 

To mock my heart with many a vanish'd scene — 

Think what I am — remember what I've been. 

So softly sweet and musically clear. 

Her voice yet whispers to my cheated ear. 

Though, dark and silent in oblivious gloom. 

She sleeps undreamingly, her home the tomb. 

Yet ling'ring memory fondly can restore 

The winning charms that bloom for me no more— 

On the pale cheek the perish'd rose relume, 

Light the dark eye, and mock the Waster's doom. 

Hers was a beauty clear, serene, refined. 

Where chasten'd passion and a sinless mind, 

Like evening beams, and softer rays of night, 

Divinely blending their ethereal light 

In melting harmony, conspired to bless 

Earth's fairest mould with Heaven's loveliness — 

To charm my spirit, till Destruction gave 

A spotless angel to an early grave. 



Hers was the wisdom known to virtue best- 
To know thyself — in blessing others, blest ; 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 15 

The mirth of innocence, that mock'd no heart — 
Not wounding wit, with its malignant dart ; 
The kindly sympathy with other's grief, 
That knew no raptm^e till it gave rehef ; 
The constant heart, the soul of vestal fire, 
Warm without sin, and pure in each desire ; 
The joyous soul, where feelings high and pure, 
Like angels, smiled a guiltless Eden o'er 
That modest piety whose law was Love — 
Benignant, boundless as the skies above ; 
Not the stern gloom of the ascetic's air, 
With all its pomp of hypocritic prayer : 
You saw its trace, not in the rigid brow, 
The mock humility and saintly bow, 
The pride of righteousness, the sacred guise 
By bloodless villains worn for mortal eyes, 
(Like stately tombs with virtues scribbled o'er, 
While all is foul and rotten in their core — ) 
No — in each cheering word, each kindly deed, 
Th' angelic influence every eye could read, 
As all behold the sky's life-giving power 
In the fair hue that paints the azure flower. 
To others kind, and to herself severe. 
Blest in her virtue, vice received a tear : 
It v^s not hers to punish, but amend ; 
God was the judge — 'twas hers to be the friend. 
Beloved, admired by all, to her alone 
Her grace and loveliness appeared unknown ; 
As yonder moon, that beams in beauty's pride, 
Lights the soft earth and gilds the subject tide, 



16 POEMS. 

Seems all unconscious of the charms that blaze 
In stainless lustre from her lofty rays, 
And only views the brightness of that sun 
From whence her own and starry beams are won. 



Can I recall, nor madden as I do, 

The ling'ring hours that o'er me slowly drew 

Their chilling weight, when first I heard that she 

Was in the grave, and ever lost to me ? 

The stun, the dubious pain, the dread surprise, 

The swelling bosom and the choking sighs ? 

My eyes that ached till, like the gushing rain, 

Fast flow'd their tears, and cooled my burning brain ? 

The lingering day, that mock'd with golden ray 

My dull despair, and slowly sunk away ? 

The age of torture that my soul lived through, 

And perish'd not, yet how it scarcely knew ? 

The i^o'sing eve, that, sadly bright'ning, brought 

Lost scenes of joy in agonizing thought, 

Till my wild soul in madness cursed high Heaven — 

When death it prayed, and knew it was not given ? 

When from the sky the reddening day had past, 
Far burning fled, nor shone to me my last, 
While with the deepening night my hopeless doom 
Sank on my bosom in unbroken gloom, 
All blackest grief before me and behind, 
A light expiring in the stormy wind — 
My restless thoughts then far and darkly fled 
O'er the waste region of the lovely dead. 



RY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 17 

And vainly wept as on they held their flight, 
O'er vanished scenes of happiness and light, 
With nought of life to stay them in their course, 
And rest their pinions in their flagging force. 
Each blooming hope then sigh'd to say farewell, 
And passed away with beauty's passing knell ; 
All that had been my rapture, all that now 
Transform'd by death is my despair and woe. 
Mine was the keen regret to which a sting 
Each swift recurring thought was doomed to bring, 
Till stunn'd and crushed beneath my weight of woes, 
Delirium lent a brief and dread repose ; 
When dreams of flame above my spirit pass'd, 
Like waking thoughts to work a boundless waste ; 
Then flying, left to weary Hfe again 
The tortured bosom and the weakened brain. 



Then came the sullen lethargy of grief, 
That w^ould not ask, that dared not hope, relief; 
The ceaseless chill that press'd upon the brain. 
When death was welcome, but invoked in vain ; 
The lonely home, the cheerless earth, where I, 
Thenceforth a wanderer, was doom'd to fly 
The-blooming world and the refulgent sky. 
That mock'd the blackness of my agony ; 
When men and nature seem'd alike to slight 
My tortured soul, and leave me to the night, 
To the dread thoughts of dull and ceaseless pain. 
And withered hopes that could not bloom again ; 
2* 



18 POEMS, 

The madd'ning wish that could not grow to hope, 

That yet surviv'd, with time and change to cope ; 

And mocking memory that chill'd the breast 

And won from slumber one who sought for rest. 

(Her beauty lingers on when joy has set, 

And woos the spirit but to wake regret ; 

Whose love but impotently seeks to stay 

Her dying tint, restore her fading ray, 

Then turns to night in hopelessness of heart. 

To curse the grief that nought may bid depart ;) 

The sullen calm, the quiet of Despair, 

With nothing left to hope, to love, to fear ; 

That mocks the God who seem'd with heedless ear. 

Its humble prayers of agony to hear ; 

Defies his vengeance, certain that the worst 

In all its horrors o'er the soul has burst ; 

All, all the reckless levity was mine. 

When sorrow's chill and frenzy's fire combine 

In all their horrors, to compel the breast 

To vent its tortures in the bitter jest. 

Mock the soft joys that it no more may share, 

And gild its desolation with a sneer. 



My spirit now must watch the fires that burn 
In fading light o'er Beauty's " fruitless urn ;" 
The present bear, live only in the past, 
A lonely wanderer o'er a withered waste. 
Long have I ceased to weep the fatal. blow — 
But still regret — that laid my Anna low ; 



BY A SOUTFI CAROLINIAN. 19 

The soothing tears my bosom once supplied, 
Woe's wasting fever long ago has dried ; 
My heart is sapless, and my blighted brain 
Is dry and bloomless as the sandy plain ; 
My thoughts are dull, they fire my soul no more, 
Nor stir with rapture as they did of yore : 
The hopes that others take delight to chase. 
Wealth, beauty, power, happiness, and place — 
No more for these with eager haste I strive. 
Nor prize what now has not a joy to give. 



Yon phantoms on Eternity's far walls. 

Where over each a dying lustre falls, 

Howe'er by storms my wandering soul is driven, 

They guide its darkling way with light from heaven: 

They beck'ning flit before my gazing eye, 

As if to win me to their dwelling high ; 

From their high home each moment darkening roll 

Their length'ning shadows o'er my cheerless soul — 

O'er the chill grave within whose murky shade 

My baffled passions long ago were laid, 

By cold despair's torpedo-touch benumb'd, 

And 'mid the ruins of my life entomb'd. 

The sole survivor of this band of bliss, 

That liv'd for joy in being's niorning, is 

Ambition lone, that sedulously decks 

A narrow pile he rears of pleasure's wrecks : 

As some gray anchorite from shattered domes. 

Where gods of vore had fix'd their happy homes, 



20 POEMS, 

Draws the white fragments, rears the narrow cell, 

Withm its walls of loneliness to dwell, 

His labor o'er, is pleased to find the home 

He reared for life, is finished for his tomb. 

The prey of grief, the victim of despair, 

'Tis mine to drag my woe through many a year, 

To coin my brain and probe my bleeding heart, 

That fools may mark my withering spirit start ; 

In idle moments hear my mom'nful lay, 

With thronging follies, jostling on the way, 

Till, quickly sated with the words of grief, 

They turn to nonsense for the wish'd relief 

To be as wand'ring stars, that e'er they fade, 

With transient lustre streak the gloomy shade ; 

Survive, when dead, a brief and changing date, 

The sport of malice and the toy of fate, 

When all that loved have fled to hear my name, 

Roam a wan ghost amid the band of fame ; 

To melt to nothing with some breaking morn, 

Or flee before the critic's sounding horn, 

W^ho only crov/s to free, like chanticleer, 

His empty bosom of superfluous air ; 

Is the sole hope that lingers by my hearth 

To cheer the loneliness — ah ! little worth 

As the quick flash that gleams along the sky, 

And pales the stars with its red brijliancy, 

Dies down the gloom, while one by one again 

Steal forth in light on high the starry train. 

So glory's flash with its unearthly powers, 

Strikes pale awhile the cold and watchins: hours ; 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 21 

Pours o'er creation its refulgent blaze, 
And dazzled nations wonder as they gaze, 
Then dies away, a brief and burning gleam ; 
The dawning hours again serenely beam, 
And weep on earth, all heedless of its flight, 
The only beacons of the boundless night. 
Such be my fate when I can sleep — ah ! then 
I'll httle reck the praise or blame of men ; 
Calm, cold, unconscious, let them bend the sneer 
Upon my grave, I ask of them no tear ; 
My heart will then be safe from malice, where 
All, all is quiet in the lonely bier ; 
Though wastes the worm, a deeper slumber falls 
Upon the ruin where -he coldly crawls, 
A ceaseless sleep, without a dream or sigh, 
Whose gift is peace— whose date, eternity. 

As some lone mother, with her sorrows wiM, 
Clings fondly, closely, to her lifeless child, 
Resists each hand that fain would tear away. 
And madly kisses the unconscious clay, — 
So clings my spirit to the cherished past. 
To scenes of joy the dearest and the last ; 
Though the dead burden, to my bosom prest. 
Chills my warm life, and chokes my heaving breast, 
Yet dearer far the madd'ning pain to me, 
Than chill despair's dull, sullen agony. 
It tells my spirit of a friend, though fled, — 
Who would not love — though he must love the 
dead ? 



22 POEMS, 

Fold to his heart, though it be clay alone, 
That chills and sickens, some beloved one ? 
Know something dear, whose very dust may bless, 
And tell the soul of vanish'd loveliness ? 
Bind some dead flower upon the brow of care. 
To show that pleasure once was blooming there ? 

Too proud to sue the old, who fall away 
Like sere leaves dropping from a withered spray. 
Too sad to win me other friends, I stand, 
Mark'd on the brow with sorrow's burning brand ; 
The being dust who -woke my love, and won. 
My spirit clings to her, and her alone ; 
Nor beauty tempts^ nor glory lures away 
The weeping watcher from the cherish'd clay. 
Alike in dust the loved and loving heart, 
That cold, this blighted — never torn apart, — 
One burning truth that will not fade to night, 
But ever shines upon my heart, to blight ; 
Like the red sword o'er Eden's gate discern'd. 
Its fearful image on my brain has burned, 
Compels my soul to roam — O, cruel fate ! 
Renouncing joy, where all is desolate. 

Hail ! Memory, hail ! — thou yet canst give the past, 
A weeping Empress of a lovely waste ; 
By this gray tomb I take, with thee, my stand, 
To watch thy pale, innumerable band : 
Pour on my gaze the long and ghostly train, 
Like shadows floating o'er the dreamer's brain, 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 23 

And bid before my spirit's sleepless eyes 
The shades of vanish'd joys and hopes arise. 

Her throne a tomb, beneath the cypress shade, 
A withered garland close beside her laid ; 
Her pallid cheek upon her hand declin'd, 
Her tangled tresses waving to the wind ; 
With hueless lips, that tremble like the leaf 
In hours autumnal, to her sighs of grief ; 
With heaving bosom, and distorted brow, 
With frenzied glances, eloquent with woe; 
Sad as the grave, and wild as those who glide 
Before her vision, in the past descried ; 
While her left palm is pressed upon her heart, 
That bounds convulsed with sorrow's hopeless start, 
And o'er her cheek the silent tear-drops roll. 
And tell the minutes to her mourning soul, 
Fall in a grave within whose dusky mine 
The lifeless faces of the lovely shine. 
Lo, Memory, the queen of vanish'd hours. 
Weeps over pleasure's desolated bowers ! 
Grieves o'er the fate that swells her shadowy train, 
And spreads unceasingly her dark domain ! 

With trembling hand, from 'neath the muffling vines, 
While on each string a tear of passion shines — 
Her harp she raises, shakes the drops away, 
Pours the soft prelude to her solemn lay, 
Sad as the lengthened sighs the dying gale 
Breathes, as it sweeps along, a hollow wail ; 



24 POEMS, 

Turns on the sinking moon her straining gaze, 
And wildly wakes the voice of other days ; 
O'er her torn harp her wasted hand she flings, 
And all her spirit echoes from the strings. 
Sad, sweet, and broken as the mourner's lay. 
When many a friend is rudely snatch'd away, 
And love and woe with blended voices swell 
The solemn music of the parting knell ; 
To the loud dirge a spectre throng advance, 
And palely flitting through the darkness, glance 
In shadowy mirth and beauty, vanish by — 
The young, the bright, a shining mockery, 
Wear the pale smile on lips that bloom no more. 
And the faint song from hollow bosoms pour, 
And joy and passion from their fixed eyes 
On memory dart, alas ! to agonize. 
They come ! they come ! she waves her icy hand, 
But called, they mock her signal of command ; 
A word arouses, but no spell may bind 
These haunting spectres of the gloomy mind ; 
O'er her dark eyes her hand is prest, but still 
In throngs they float around her, pale and chill. 
She vainly turns away her frenzied gaze — 
New shapes arise — the ghosts of other days ; 
The spectral goddess shrieks, and on the gale 
A thousand echoes answer to her wail — 
She wildly looks, till from her aching brain 
Delirium dashes out the ghostly train ; 
In its fierce flame the icy starlets shrink, 
By madness driven o'er destruction's brink, — 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 25 

As the pale beams of night are swept away, 
When bursts to life the red and sultry day. 

It must be so — the dead can sure return, 
Burst the dark earth, desert the lonely urn ; 
For lo ! what meets my eye — still fair, though pale, 
Where fall the moon-beams, and the shadows fail ? 
All wanly beautiful, and coldly bright. 
That, star-like, sadd'neth while it giveth light ? 
'Tis thou, my Anna, but how changed thou art ! 
Yet not more changed than is this hopeless heart. 
Speak, speak ! — thy pallid lips again they move ! 
My eager spirit waits their words of love ; 
Raise the cold lids, and let those eyes of light 
Flash on my soul, and chase away its night. 
O, nearer come, that I again may press 
Those cherish'd lips of faded loveliness — 
May to my breast thy wasted beauties fold. 
Till thou shalt live, or haply I be cold ! 
She comes ! — I clasp her — pitying Heaven ! — her 

charms 
To moon-beams melt within my circling arms, 
That strike, relapsing through the airy gloom, 
On my lone breast, resounding like a tomb. 
I am alone ! — O God, again alone ! 
Detested word ! — the lovely shadow gone, — 
The only thing that meets my eye, yon stone, 
The setting beams are coldly glancing on — 
The only sound that greets my straining ear, 
The echoed accents of my own despair. 



26 POEMS, 



©lETfHKf© ^©ism, 



A weight of wine lies heavy on my head, 

The unconcocteA follies of last night. 

Now all those jovial fancies and bright hopes, 

Children of wine, go off like dreams. 

This sick vertigo here 

Preacheth of temperance, no sermon better. 

These black thoughts, and dull melancholy, 

That stick like burs to the brain, will they ne'er leave me? 

Lamb : Jno. Woodvil, Act 4th, Scene 1st. 



The fumes of wine have vanished from my brain 
With all the radiant pictures of the night, 

The ebbing billows of the glowing main 
Disclose a barren region to my sight ; 

My head is pregnant with a sullen pain, 

My throat is chill'd by nausea's deathly might ; 

My eyes are dull and aching, and now I 

With agues shake, now burn infernally. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 



II. 



27 



Oh ! it is glorious, the sweUing tide, 

On whose bright bosom mirth and friendship are, 
With arching sails and banners gay descried, 

Their crew all jolly and the breezes fair ; 
Through flashing billows bravely on they ride, 

The blithest when the breakers are most near. 
Ah, me ! the ebb has come, and blackly thrown — 
Their scattered wrecks are left the sands upon. 



III. 



Upon the cloud that hovered o'er my brain 
(The dew that gushes from the teeming vine) 

No more may wit's and fancy's gleeful train 
The beauteous bow of peace and love combine 

It hangs as dull as winter's misty rain 
Upon this faint and heavy head of mine ; 

Its covenant of peace and joy is broken, 

As well I know by many a rueful token. 



IV. 



Last night the world did hold no gayer wight — 
I stood amid a band whose wine at least, 

If not their songs, was mellow. Lamps were bright. 
Yea, doubly bright — and o'er each bounding breast 

The joyous god presided in his might : 

(Like other gods, of those who worship best. 

He asks most penance :) gayest of the gay, 

I shone among his priests my vows to pay. 



28 POEMS, 



O Wine ! thou art a god — a god, sweet Wine, 
And well of old they gave thy pedigree : 

An earthly maid thy dam, thy sire divine — 
Yon blazing beams that overhead I see — 

Thou art an honor to thy lofty line. 

The liquid light and fire of heaven, when free 

From the dull clusters, verily thou art. 

Great soft^ne? of the human head and heart. 

VI. 

As the low sun, when he with level rays 

Through golden clouds emits his mellow light, 

A dewy flame, a soft and luminous haze, 
O'er autumn's richly tinted wood all bright. 

Shone fancy's gushing beams her golden blaze 
O'er my sere memories, and to my sight 

They seemed again to live : the night came on, 

The night of truth, and all the fair are gone. 

VII. 

Last night my thoughts, like angel's, borne upon 
A waveless sea of rich and mellow light, 

Hung motionless and beaming every one 
On the warm atmosphere divinely bright — 

The atmosphere of rapture pour'd upon 
My spirit by the bowl, and in my sight 

Forgotten smiles grew bright on pallid lips, 

And kindled eyes long cold in death's eclipse. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 29 

VIII. 

Beauty with all her loves and pleasures rose 

From the rich bowl, with smiles whose charms 
were felt 

To sink into the soul, as noon-day glows 

Piercing the ocean's caverned waves, to melt 

Away in light among them ; as where flows 
Her native tides, while gods adoring knelt, 

Whilome she rose with dripping limbs and curls 

Like a young star from ocean's bed of pearls. 

IX. 

The thoughts of joy have vanish'd, and the lone 
And ominous ravens that have long beset 

My mind appear, and drooping, sit upon 
My leafless soul, their flagging pinions wet 

As with an icy dew, with dreary tone 
Croaking to me a song of vain regret ; 

Or on decaying hours with greedy haste 

They feed, their banquet is the withered past. 



Unchanging, cold, and sullen is my pain. 
Like to despair, the sickness of the mind. 

Dull, faint, and icy, dead'ning nerve and vein — 
A pang that seems of death and hell combin'd. 

My brain is swollen to the skull, the grain 
Of flinty sands seem cutting there to grind. 

The Transcendentalists are right — the world, 

Rocks, brambles, all upon my brain are hurl'd. 



30 POEMS, 



XI. 



I seem the centre of creation — sky, 

Earth, city, sun, the trees, the dogs, the people. 
All things are whirling round me, low and high. 

I've caught the trick, and with yoii glitt'ring steeple 
Am fiercely waltzing, while " Creation's eye," 

Swollen, and red as if she did not sleep well, 
Flares like a mighty torch around, around. 
As mimicking his dirty bride, the ground. 



XII, 



I would devote, if hope no change could see, 
And for the better, unto heaven, the poor 

Vile remnant of my days. It might to me, 
As to a thousand saints, or may be more, 

Be given to enter at that sacred door ; 
I think I feel religious ; I am sore 

Of this vile earth, my evil thoughts subdued. 

Too weak to sin, I'm in a pious mood. 



XIII. 



Oh, could I sleep like old Endymion, 

(As soundly — God forbid my sleep should be 

As lengthy, though a goddess' lap upon 
With hands immortal, to keep off of me 

The humming flies.) I'll go and lay me down 
Upon my pillow. How coquettishly 

I am repelled by this vile, dancing door. 

That woos and flies me, and the wavy floor. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 31 



XIV. 



My bed is surely changed into a steed ; 

I clutch the coverlet — no, 'tis the mane — 
Lord, how he plunges ! Yes, I am, indeed, 

A very Parthian, or this tortured brain 
Would be dashed out by this wild horse's speed. 

I'll up and try my staggering feet again, 
Which, like a man and wife, though join'd by God, 
Seem much averse to travel the same road. 

XV. 

I seek the fire — what deadly qualms assail ! 

My stomach toSses, and my head doth swim ; 
I bare my forehead to the passing gale, 

An ague seizes on each clammy limb ; 
I'm hotly flushed, and now I'm ghostly pale ; 

Now stare around, and now my eyes are dim ; 
Now death his breath is o'er me coldly blowing, 
And now the flames of hell within are glowing. 

XVI. 

What shall I do — no posture brings relief — 
To pass away this quiet Sabbath morning ? 

Or watch, or write upon a falling leaf? 

Or through the window mark yon maid, adorning 

Her peerless form ? my glances, like a thief. 
Creeping beneath her curtain's silken awning, 

To gaze on beauties, with adoring awe, 

Fenced round with linen, buckram, silk, and law. 



32 POEMS, 



XVII. 



Her glowing bust, that lately veil'd its swell 
Only beneath fair nature's lengthened hair, 

Soft, dark, and curling fondly where it fell, 
And tremulous, as though it quickened there 

With passion's pulse, now seeks its mystic cell 
Of silk and padding, and the wanton air 

Sighs vainly for the tied-up curls it lately 

Played with. She stands a goddess, prim and stately. 



XVIII. 



And fashion now has veiled her lightning's gleams, 
And my warm brain must strive before my eye 

To paint the clouded sun's remembered beams 
Of full and glowing beauty, and to try 

And fancy, in my vague untutored dreams, 
If most her glories strike, or melt to sigh 

That they are gone. And yet, they did not steady 

My reeling brain, or make me aught less heady. 



XIX. 



Or shall I up, and dress, and go to hear 
That venal man, whose idiotic raving, 

As oft in other lands, no matter where. 

As loud he yells, and wide his hands are waving, 

Is here mistaken, by each pious ear, 

For inspiration ? No ; for I need shaving ; 

I cannot do it, and the lazy barber — 

1 scarcely think that I can reach his harbor. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 33 



ril try and fix my swimming thoughts upon 
Some vanished worthy of the olden time, 

On heartless Brutus, and each headless son, 

And strive to judge who did the greatest crime ; 

On Paul, Punch, Milo, Murrill, Wellington, 
Or " She of Babylon ;" to hum a rhyme 

Of some old song ; or think — an earthly sinner ! — 

On what I'll eat, and where I'll get my dinner. 

XXI. 

I'll think of manners, mitres, and mustachios, 

Belles, eye-brows, bustles, systems, dead or start- 
ed ; 

But thought's like islands, that we see when hid close, 
In the horizon view'd and now departed. 

As my brain sinks and swims ; I'll think of all those 
Who suffer most, the broken-skulled or hearted ; 

Or dream of fame, with empty head and pocket, 

Or write on taste, how you may please or shock it. 

XXII. 

But I grow melancholy ; every qualm. 
More eloquent than any hired preacher, 

Whispers my spirit, in its gasping calm, 

(O, for a drink from yonder brimming pitcher, 

To pour into my weary frame a balm,) 

Its nothingness. O stern, but truthful teacher, 

I pray you end ; let's have some intermission — 

I think I'm wise enough, with vour permission. 
3 



24 POEMS, 



XXIII. 



It may not be ; my sicken'd frame denies 
Rest to my spirit, and it seeks to know 

Where, when the prison-dust in darkness lies, 
The winged tenant, and for what, shall go ; 

How sleep the dead, with folded energies ; 
What dreams molest, if any dare to show 

Their faces in the grave, so chill and quiet. 

To share with toads their dull and heavy diet ; 

XXIV. 

What we shall do, if anything, beyond 

The stream of death — get drunk and frolic ever, 
Or blow a trumpet, sing, or bear a wand 

Potent in thought, just lesser than its giver ; 
Sleep 'neath a preacher, there, as here, quite fond 

Of taking up subscriptions, to deliver 
His heathen appetites from *' sorrow's chain," 
By stuffing till they burst their bonds in twain. 

XXV. 

All, all, is doubt and mystery : I glide 
On the dark stream resistlessly away, 

Crush'd my weak thoughts, and vanish'd all my 
pride ; 
The darkness yields not to my feeble ray — 

Myself a mystery, to death allied. 

If solved, I know not, with the rotting clay. 

My metaphysics darken, I grow sicker — 

Lord, how my stomach whirls ! — O hell ! the liquor ! 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 35 



MMSS 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG M. D. 



O Lord, in all thy deeds and ways 
Thy wond'rous wisdom we may see ; 

No trivial act, but well displays 
Thy reason, mercy, majesty. 



Cut off in manhood's early prime, 
I wonder'd why this tyro fell ; 

But patient thought, instructing time. 
Has made me own thou workest well. 



III. 

This youth the Doctor's trade began- 
Was silly, yet was confident ; 

By many a blunder many a man 
Untimely to the grave he'd sent. 



36 POEMS, 



This thou couldst see, and Death in vain 
Did sue thy clemency to spare 

This reaper, who would swell his train 
Of phantoms, but one little year. 



Unwilling, at thy high behest 

He struck his fav'rite from the world ; 
Groaned, as he view'd him sink to rest. 

Where many a mortal else he'd hurl'd. 

VI. 

Great God, how merciful thy rule ! 

Now of thy wisdom I am sure ; 
Since by the killing of one fool 

Thou'st saved the lives of many more. 



T® muss 



Leda's fair daughter, by her heavenly charms. 
Woke all the world, a martial host, in arms : 
Thou canst not worlds in arms, sweet lady, wake, 
But all the world within thv arms thou'dst take. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 3^ 



iMiPiEomiPfTnr, 



ON HEARING A LADY SAY THAT MR. HAD A 

CONTEMPLATIVE FACE. 

Though his features are grave, be sure 

'Tis not with contemplation ; 
He thinks of an ass, no more, 

And grieves for a dead relation. 



Forego thy dull, eternal prate 
Of all thy noble sires have done ; 

Nor think their deeds may consecrate 
The meanness of their puny son. 

From patriots of the olden time 

Thy life derived, thou show'st to all, 

A wriggling worm, a thing of slime. 
May from a lion's carcass crawl. 



38 POEMS. 



(BE miSAIDIKKi SOUS ¥SmSffiS. 

The legends say that Mercury of old 

A magic wand of wond'rous charms possest, 

Whose touch could waking eyes in slumber fold, 
Or rouse the sleeper from his dreamless rest. 

O bard ! like potent gifts to thee belong ; 

Thou dost command this melting lay of thine 
To "wake " thy ** lady's eyes," the while thy song 

In deepest sleep is softly sealing mine. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 39 



AM ffiSTIEMT. 



The night is o'er me — not the vap'ry night 
That broods upon the earth, for in its hue 

Of deepest azure, in its beams that, bright 
With an undying lustre, thickly strew 
The boundless sweep of skies divinely blue, 

It wears a heavenly aspect like its clime ; 

Through the dark air the myriad stars I view, 

Some beaming with a beauty, pure, sublime, 

Some flashing faintly, fair, reveal'd from time to 
time. 



How grandly bends the solemn skies above 
The silent earth, that sleeps as in a pall, 

Amid the darkness. Like the eyes of love, 

When wildly burning through the tears that fall 
From their full lids, within a grave where all 

The loved are lying, are yon stars, that bless 
My gaze with beauty, pure and spiritual, 

That glow as tremulous with the excess 

Of their eternal light and thrilling loveliness- 



40 POEMS, 

in. 

O'er the far hill his melancholy tune 

Hoots the lone owl, and on the distant sky, 

Yet silvered with the trace of day, the moon 
Beams with a lonely lustre, silently 
Descending the pale west ; while dark doth lie 

Within her arms the orb that beam'd of late 
In silvery beauty, until doom'd to die, 

And now she hastens with her lifeless freight 

To Acheron's dull shore, where all is desolate. 

IV. 

How have I stood, in time that is no more, 
Beneath such sky as this, with tireless gaze 

And tranced soul, delighted to explore 

The starry regions, while the burning rays 
Were lighting in my mind a kindred blaze — 

Each sordid thought forgetting — till my soul 
Was floating 'mid the stars, and songs of praise 

Breathed to that God whose word had formed the 
whole — 

Escaping this dull earth, and spurning its control. 



The stars were then bright ministers to me, 
Whose office was, by their far purity 

And loveliness, the struggling soul to free. 
Melting the chains of flesh to light on high 
My winged thoughts ; then yonder lofty sky 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN, 41 



Was the dark temple whence upon my sight 

Phantoms which were to me reahty, 
Of most unearthly beauty, strangely bright, 
Swept down the vocal air on wings of starry light. 



VI. 

Thence came the hope, the aspiration fair, 
For love and glory — but a love most pure, 

And fame that knew not sordidness : whate'er 
Could give, if compass'd, to life's barren shore 
Undying bliss, and beauty such as o'er 

The skies, as seen to faith, forever dwell. 
Imagination wrought me ; and, oh ! more. 

My raptured soul beheved attainable 

The* visions wildly fair that Fancy pictured well. 



VII. 

Earth seemed to me one mighty garden then. 
And from my brimming spirit love did well, 

And much I gave and much I hoped of men. 
Alas ! that I should live to hear the knell 
Of all those lovely dreams ; should learn to tell 

The hollowness of hope ; should in my kind, 
With whom I deem'd each noble trait to dwell 

That lights the heart and elevates the mind, 

But lust, deceit and hate, pretence and folly find ! 



43 POEMS, 



VIII. 



Those days are gone : the dark and fatal blight 
Of death and truth upon my hope has come, 

Like sudden frost, and all that once was bright 
Is blasted ; for it is my fearful doom 
To wither with my love, like the simoom, 

Whate'er it kisses with its burning breath ; 
And unto all I cherish'd the dark tomb 

Hath been my fatal gift : they fall beneath 

My fondness like to foes whom hate devotes to death. 

IX. 

As famish'd seamen plunge to meet the wave 

From off a lonely wreck, fast one by one 
My heart hath lost its loved : the greedy grave 

Yawn'd dark beneath them, and they now are 
gone; 

And on I stagger, faint and yet alone. 
She who upon my life in beauty rose. 

Like Cytherea from the billow, shone 
But briefly on my cold and stormy woes, 
Then sped away to heaven, to rapture, to repose. 



My early thoughts are gone ; or if perchance 
One, like a flower in winter seen to spring. 

Warmed into being by a treacherous glance — 
A moment beautiful, then withering — 
Bloom in its fading loveliness to fling 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 4$ 

Charms o'er the ruin of my life — too fast 
The smile of hope its lustre cherishing 
Is by the dismal frown of fate o'ercast ; 
Truth blows with wintry breath — its little life is past. 



XI. 

Th' immortal stars are beautiful as of yore ; 

But now they seem far burning through the air, 
Of deepest blue, that bends divinely o'er 

This tomb and cradle, earth — no more to wear 

Their look of love and rapture coldly fair 
And fixt : their glances tell me of the dead, 

Whose eyes they seem, mysterious, chiUing, clear, 
And changeless — gazing from a tomb, to shed 
A strangely awing spell — a beauty and a dread. 



XII. 

No more of glory and of love they teach, 
But they recall most truthfully the past—^ 

Dreams like themselves, though bright, beyond the 
reach 
Of man's aspiring soul — and hopes that cast 
A loveliness too heavenly fair to last ; 

Like the bright breaking of a golden morn, 
That wanes into a day of gloom, a waste 

Of sullen clouds, and of their beauty shorn. 

I stand amid my woes, proud, tearless, and forlorn. 



44 POEMS, 



XII] 



My world of fancy and the world of truth 
Were early blended : like the day and night 

Of autumn's azure sky, they met ere youth 

Had passed ; but still a clear and lingering light 
Melts slowly into darkness palely bright 

And coldly fair, and sheds a dying smile 

O'er my existence, (where Destruction's might 

Hath shattered temples he could not defile,) 

And mournful beauty throws along each hoary pile. 



XIV. 



Then did I hope — (but what avails it now ?) — 
To light, to warm, to cheer my cherish'd race ; 

For brightly in my sinless mind did glow 

The fires of bliss and love. I sought to chase 
Crime and its first-born, Sorrow, till no trace 

Should grieve my gaze — until no human mind, 
Beguiled by falsehood from the blest embrace 

Of Virtue, rankling chains of sin should bind, 

But all be free and pure, forgiving, fond, and kind. 



XV. 



As the departed sun yet leaves, to cheer 

The lonely earth, and light the shrouded sky, 

The many stars he kindles 'mid the air. 
Bright with his beams' reflected radiancy ; 
So did I hope, when I at last should lie 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 45 

Within my hallowed grave, to leave behind 

My thoughts, bright with a fire that could not die, 
Burning with all the deathless beams of mind, 
Scattered o'er truth's wide page — as stars serene, 
refined, 



XVI. 

Along the boundless skies, with fadeless light 
And most unearthly beauty ; to subdue 

The evil passions in my kind ; to blight 

Their lusts and selfishness ; to pierce them through 
With light ; to raise them to the only true 

And godlike attribute of mortals — love ; 

Even as yon beams, that blaze amid the blue, 

Win by their beauty, free, refine, improve. 

And guide the chainless soul to their high home above. 



XVII. 

Those days are gone ; and like receding sails, 

That leave to-night the dim horizon's line, 
Swept o'er the foamy billows by the gales, 

Each snow- winged thought of peace that has been 
mine 

Has flitted into darkness o'er the brine 
Of chill and cheerless life, a stormy gloom 

Descends on sweeping wings, and palely shine — 
Wrung from my torture o'er my dreary doom — 
My passion's lurid fires, like death-lights from a tomb. 



m 



46 POEMS, 



XVIII. 



The past when I recall, it rises to 

The straining gaze of mournful memory 

Like the drown'd world emerging into view. 
While on its mountain-tops most fearfully 
Gleam the white bones in dust, (where erst the eye 

Saw the refulgent snows,) left by the wave 
To tell its awful deeds ; while darkly lie 

The sodden ashes in the murky grave — 

All that the soul most loved, what most it sought to 
save. 



XIX. 



My hours once were Ganymede's, and bore 

Each to my soul a goblet of delight, 
And love, and hope, most pleasant and most pure, 

Warm to the heart and sparkling to the sight ; 

But now they bear, to chill my soul and blight, 
The ashes of the dead, and with a sigh 

Of melancholy cadence check their flight 
And cast their gifts to me, appropriately — 
Dust unto dust — the dead — to him who longs to die. 



XX. 

But though they crush my life-blood out, it flows, 
And the earth drinks it — darkly, silently 

I shun my heartless kind, and bear my woes 
Too haughtily to yield a tear or sigh, 
To furnish forth to folly's staring eye 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 4*7 

And idle tongue a spectacle and theme ; 

Nor will I stoop to shun men's mockery, 
By forcing smiles, that, cheated, they may deem 
Me blest : I care not what they think, or what I seem. 



XXI. 

Tried by their standard — for it has not been 
The guide or of my thoughts or of my deeds — 

Great would their censure be. There is between 
The hearts of custom's children (sown with seeds 
Of guile and selfishness, as thick as weeds 

Wave o'er a dung-hill,) and mine own, a wide 
And mark'd distinction. I have spurn'd their 
creeds, 

Their prudent maxims, such as are the guide 

Of dullness and deceit, and what I've scorn'd, defied. 



XXII. 

My heart has been my guide, and my own mind. 

Invigorated by each fountain pure 
That Truth has left on earth to bless the blind, 

And give them sight. I have not stooped to cure, 

With words of falsehood, Vice's eating sore. 
Nor hugg'd the foul contagion to my breast. 

I have not knelt before the heartless whore, 
Vain, cruel Fashion, though in jewels drest ; 
Her fiats I have scorned — her minions I detest. 



48 POEMS, 



XXIII. 



Nor have I caught subserviently the cry, 
Nor joined the chase, of yelHng crowds, whose teeth 

Tear what they touch — who furiously fly 

As points a master's hand, and with his breath 
Cheers on the curs, and dooms to cruel death 

The pure, the great, the innocent, the wise : 
All these have sunk, and yet will sink, beneath 

The world's vile servants and their bitter lies. 

Out on the hypocrites ! who knows them must despise. 



XXIV. 

If I would deign to smile upon their vice. 

Nay, be the leader in each base emprise, 
To pay for fickle fame the common price — 

My conscience to my interest sacrifice ; 

If I would varnish o'er with ready lies 
The meanness and the frailty of my race — 

Conceal my thoughts and cloak my enmities — 
Betray my friends when they are in disgrace — 
I too might scorn myself, win riches, power, and place. 

XXV. 

Men wear a woven cerement of deceit ; 

Their very breath is guile, their lives a maze 

Of shining falsehoods. 'Tis their aim to cheat, 
And will ; 'tis worshipp'd e'en till it betrays 
Them to believe that whatsoe'er they praise, 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 49 

And have adorned through mterest, is the right. 

They are the dupes of their own tricks ; the blaze 
Of their deception dazzles till their sight 
Is charnjed by each faint glow corruption lends to 
night. 



XXVI. 

I have my vices — nay, it may be crime ; 

But yet I loathe them, and I well can see 
And worship lights that burn on high sublime — 

True virtues that will live eternally. 

I dare to know my baseness, and to be 
Ashamed of lusts ; but while the taint I own, 

I struggle from corruption to be free. 
I do not craze my conscience, but can groan 
O'er every erring deed she loathes and I have done. 



XXVII. 

My love is not of selfishness, for I 

Have cherished those that few beside would cheer. 
I never feigned unto an enemy 

That he was to my very spirit dear, 

For sordid ends, or through ignoble fear. 
I form my thoughts upon no model — none 

Are strangled, and my bosom's core is bare : 
I seek not praise for deeds I have not done. 
And motives not my own — false glory I would shun. 



50 POEMS, 

XXVIII. 

Unloved I may exist, and I may pass 
Forgotten from the minds and from the gaze 

Of busy men I ne'er have flattered, as 
A raven fading in the distant blaze 
Of dying day, o'er whose lone flight the haze 

Of darkness gathers ; not be ranked v^^ith those 
Proud, mighty phantoms of departed days, 

Who, vaguely seen where fading glory glows. 

Melt into gath'ring night — that night from whence 
they rose. 

XXIX. 

It is oblivion — this I well can bear : 

What matters it to me that men should hold 

My name in their remembrance ? It will share, 
Forgotten, but the fate of those who've sold 
Their self-esteem for fame ; and, ah ! how cold 

The veneration for the noblest dead. 

That glory gathers to her dark'ning fold. 

Who, cowering o'er the embers as they shed 

A twilight lustre round, shrink from the night with 
dread. 

XXX. 

I neither court nor yet repel my kind ; 
I ask no favor, and I yield no right. 

Nor one withhold from others ; where I find 
Hypocrisy I hate, and seek to blight, 
Careless of enemies I make : the might 



BY A SOUTM CAROLINIAN. 51 

Of men may crush me, but I ne'er will bow 
To their base idols, share each filthy rite, 
Nor crouch to meanness, if but mighty, though 
Its minions beat me down, and double blow on blow. 



XXXI. 

I seek not to regenerate ; I know 

The slaves are wedded to their lusts, that I • 
Am feeble, and the world would but bestow 

Its scorn on me, at best its enmity. 

I speak what I believe, to satisfy 
My heart and the behests of God, to prove 

Unto my foes that I will ne'er comply 
With their foul wishes ; but I will remove 
Me from their noisome sink, from what I ne'er can 
love. 

XXXII. 

I walk among them, as I would upon 
A battle field among the rotting dead. 

The sore, and dying, though the stench I shun, 
And scorn and sicken as perforce I tread 
Among the carcasses ; the while I shed 

Tears, burning tears, to think how lowly laid, 
How black, what had been strong and fair till led 

Against the foe, and gladly give my aid 

To raise and cheer each wretch whose life has yet 
delayed. 



52 ' POEftfs, 



XXXIII. 



Even as yon moon, in early life my soul 

Clasp'd in its arms alone the dead and dear : 
But silently, if wept, my tears shall roll, 

As down I hasten on my lone career. 

Death, Death has borne himself my rival e'er — 
His love and mine have centred upon one ; 

His was the prize, but still my soul would share. 
Clings to the dust, though hope and light are gone, 
And what it once has loved will love till life be done. 



xxxiv. 

I ask no sympathy from men, for they 

Would give me scorn or pity ; these I could 

Seek and endure of none. My weight of clay, 
Though chill and heavy, in the silent mood 
Of pain I stagger wdth. Although my blood 

Flows feebly now, since from its youthful force 
It has declined, my soul is not subdued, . 

Although its passions, as within a corse 

The gore around the heart, are curdled at their 
source. 

xxxv. 

Still my lone spirit, sorrowing, but proud. 
Is nerved for destiny, and though the prey 

Of ceaseless agony, it ne'er has bow'd ; 
Firmly it wars against its slow decay. 
With no kind friend to watch and wipe away 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 53 



Its chill and bitter sweat, and so must feed 
On its own poison, drinking, day by day, 
Death to itself; but though its life recede, 
'Tis equal to its fate, and silently can bleed. 



XXXVI. 

Sorrow is man's unalterable doom ; 

None are exempt, and they who waste the least 
Of breath in groaning, soonest reach the tomb — 

That haven where the weary heart can rest ; 

And I will strangle in my swelling breast 
All weak complaining, and the sword, at last, 

If from the hand of fate I cannot wrest. 
Be clogg'd and blunted ; and when life is past. 
Poor soul, thou'lt little reck the tortured thing thou 
wast. 



XXXVII. 

But if my mind has lost its early glow 
Of wild and lavish loveliness, that threw 

A charm o'er all it touched — if it has now 
None of the freshness of its morning dew, 
It burns with concentrated flame ; if few 

Of youth's soft dreams can flourish 'neath its blaze, 
Truth it invigorates, and well can view, 

From its high home serene, with searching gaze, 

The errors that it gilt in pleasure's gleeful days. 



54 POEMS, 



XXXVIIl. 



Calm in its desolation, though alone, 

And self-sustained with its meridian light, 

It pierces deeply from its lofty throne, 

Each cloud dispell'd ; beneath its sleepless sight 
Wide fields expand ; perchance, foredoomed to fight 

With falsehood, (like Toledo's tempered brand,) 
Plunged into suffering while 'twas burning bright, 

And chill'd and harden'd in th' Almighty hand. 

It yet may hew its way wide through the hostile band. 

XXXIX. 

In the meanwhile, since arid is the beach. 

Forth with adventurous sail I put to sea — 
Far from the dreary shore my course I stretch. 

Where gales are fresher and the waves are free ; 

And it at least will be a joy to me 
To buffet with the winds and tides, till Heaven 

My doom determine ; then, right joyously, 
I will submit me to my fate till riven. 
The wreck of what I was, again to earth be given. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 55 



®M m f nil WHMffiiis wnniiDs, 



The moon to-night in murky storms awoke, 

And even at her earliest dawning bow'd 
Her radiant forehead to the heavy yoke, 

Piled by the shrieking winds of many a cloud; 
And now no more her silvery light 
Melts away the dusky night, 

Save when with momentary darting ray, 
Through the dull masses of the tempest riven. 

To the lone landscape, wint'ry, wild and gay, 
In ghostly flash her paly sheen is given ; 

But oft her lustre faintly strives 
To tint with wan and, watery white 

The rolling clouds the north wind drives 
Onward in its sweeping might. 

On edges of the sable clouds her glow, 
In faintest silver softly from afar, 

Reposes briefly, till the tempests blow 
Some darker mass along, this bright'ning charm to 
mar. 

And ever and anon, as on the gales 
Some vanward cloud outstrips its lagging rear, 

And fast and far on lighter pinion sails, 
A spot of deepest blue, and burning stars appear — 



56 POEMS. 

Stars that dawn like hope to woe, 

With thrilling charms in their unearthly glow, 
Yet seem in tremulous, seraphic light, 

To view and dread the storm ; and ere the eye 
Well marks these radiant wand'rers of the night, 

Back from the roaring winds they glimmering fly : 
And such — so beautiful and brief — the ray 

That soft-eyed Peace, of a serener clime, 
A shining habitant, to mortals may 

Accord in kindness when, through sin and crime, 
(The clouds that brutal passions raise,) 

Her trembling smile may meekly steal, 
And to the yearning heart, and watching gaze, 

A light that is of love, a glimpse of heaven reveal. 



Wild winds, the sullen clouds on high 

Ye sweep along, and here beneath. 
O'er earth, with many a shriek and sigh. 

And hollow lengthened groan, ye drift the wrecks 
of death — 
Sport with clouds of withered leaves, 

Dancing to the howling gust. 
While loud and sad of voice the forest heaves 

And bows to view its glories in the dust. 
Yet in your dying sighs, your s welling shrieks. 

Your hollow groans, as on ye sweep the earth. 
Terrifically, hopeless Sorrow speaks. 

And madness mingles with the tones of frantic 
mirth. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 57 

Ah ! do ye grieve to blight and sweep away 

The leaves ye brought to life, and nurtured well, 
Forced by inexorable fate, that may 
Not be denied its wish — inflexible ? 
E'en as a starving mother from her breast, 

By famine dried, would snatch her gasping child ; 
(Her brain by frenzy's wildering pain opprest,) 

And, with a shriek, and groan, and laughter wild, 
Commingled fearfully, against the earth 

The sobbing wretch, that she had loved the most — 
Yea, loved and cherished ere its hour of birth — 
In madness hurl, and shriek when all her hope 
was lost. 
Chill winds, ye breathe a fainter moan, 

Your hour of stormy rage is past ; 
Ye die in hollow whistles down 
The bleak and sedgy waste. 



III. 
Frosty winds, ye are sighing 

A wail most low and melancholy, 
Through the boughs whose leaves are dying, 

And falling slowly ; 
Like the tones of an orphan child, 
Wailing sadly, faintly. 
When the night is dark and the winds are wild, 

At the door of the rich and saintly, 
Sound in my ear as they die away, 
The failing notes of your muffled lay, 
4 



58 POEMS, 

IV. 

Ye whisper me, with weird tone, 

Of the cherish'd ones of other time, 
Of friends no more, and pleasures gone ; 

Ye mimic mem'ry's chime, 
As she sends to me with chilling breath. 

Blown from the charnel, damp and cold, 
Her knell of the lovely hush'd in death, 

And mingling with the mould. 

V. 

Ye die away like a spirit lone. 

And sad as lonely, leaving not 
A ling'ring echo, and no one 

To weep you — fled, forgot — 
Save me, who in your passing breath 

O'er withered things, in you 
A token of my life and death 

Acknowledge sadly true, 

VI. 

Ye stir again, and the hollow gust 

Moans as it blew where'er it fled. 
With icy breath, the sapless dust 

From the bones of the ghastly dead, 
And grieved each gleaming bone to bare 

In its utter nakedness. 
And view the wrecks of the young and fair, 

In desolation's dress. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 59 

VII. 

Wilder and deeper your wint'ry swell 

Rolls over the tossing w^ood, 
Like the groans and shrieks that ring the knell 

Of the beautiful and good; 
And the bravest branches rattle and groan 

Beneath your wild career, 
As the dark, undreaming dead, 

If the shriek of the tempest they could hear 
Would quake through every sounding bone, 

As ye sweep the boundless paths of air, 
High over each grim and ghostly head. 
Laid in its cold and murky bed. 



VIII. 

Wild winds of winter, passing through 

The sable groves of mournful yew, 
On the heavy-swinging bough, 

Swiftly rock ye to and fro 
The silent rook in slumber blest ; 

And toss the owl that sadly hoots 
A hoi low lay from a lonely breast. 

As he swings among the waving shoots 
Till his yellow eyes amid the night 

Waver and flash with a baleful glare ; 
As dead man's eyes with greenish light, 

Gleam through his matted hair. 
When spectral figures wheel and glance 
Around their graves in a phantom dance. 



60 POEMS, 



IX. 



O winds ! ye seem the last farewell 

Of spirits that ride the roaring gale — 
The loved, the lost, that darkly dwell 

Down in the charnel, still and pale, 
That pour, as they float the tempest's swell, 

O'er my loneliness a wail. 
Give o'er, give o'er your song of woe, 

Wild winds of winter, let me sleep ; 
Oh gladly I would hear ye blow, 

If my sad eyes could weep. 
It may not be — there is a grief, 

That freezes on the brain each tear, 
Whose flow to me would be relief; 

That sorrow is despair. 
No longer shake my withered heart. 

Nor mock with chilling memories : 
Sad wallers, will ye not depart. 

That I may close mine eyes ? 
Your song is dying down the dismal vale, 

My casement can no longer feel your wings, 
Fainter and fainter to my ear the gale 

Breathes its wild murmurings. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 61 



saai!DMi[®mff hm a wsy. 

(an extract.) 

'Tis midnight, and the lamp, that flickered long 
Before my weary gaze, hath died away, 
E'en as my soul shall fade into the night. 
When it is done with woe. I cannot sleep, 
Though 'tis the calmest hour of slumber's reign ; 
My pangs of body, and the keener pangs 
Than of my burnt and aching limbs, the pangs 
Of my sick mind, deny all rest to me. 
I gaze upon the gloom with weary eyes, 
Seared by the fiery forms that wildly whirl 
Before my burning brain. Alone, and sick ! 
No voice to whisper comfort, and to plan 
Scenes of delight for health restored, to speak 
The hope that trembles from the lips of doubt, 
And half repays us for the pain we bear 
By telling us how we are valued, — no 
Soft hand to linger kindly on my own. 
And calm its fever'd pulse. She sleeps in dust 
Who I had hoped would cheer me at such time. 
Bring the cool draught, or wing the tedious night 
By words of love, and fondly kiss away 
The hot impatience breathing from my lips. 



62 POEMS. 

I vainly toss upon my burning bed — 
Still glows my blood, and still the changeless pang 
Chokes my faint throat ; no posture brings relief 
Unto my body, and no change of thought 
To my worn spirit, for I meditate 
On death, despair, and loneliness — the first, 
The brightest of my visitants. I may 
Survive ; the throes of flesh may cease — but those 
That waste my spirit only will be calmed 
In the chill grave. 

How sharply to my ear 
The ticking clock tells o'er the leaden hours ; 
Sleepless, like me, beneath its garland sere 
It labors through the night ; its tones are sharp 
As is the clicking of the wintry sleet 
Upon a tomb, and mocking my pall'd ear, 
They seem the dread and saddening echoes of 
The fleshless foot of death, that falls upon 
The bones of all I love, as slow he steals 
On his destroying course. 

I'll rise, and look 
Upon the blue and solemn skies ; perchance 
Their dark and vast serenity may calm 
My soul to rest. Their orbs of purest light, 
That I have deem'd kind ministers of love 
And loveliness, may pour upon my soul 
Bright thoughts of other days, to cheer its gloom. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN, 63 

How beautiful, sublimely beautiful, 
The boundless dome of yon eternal sky ! 
Whose dusky and yet clear magnificence 
Temples the silent stars, that rise and watch, 
And weep, above this lost and stricken world, 
Sleeping in foggy night ; and now they view, 
As long and changelessly from high they've seen 
The same dark host of passions lulled to rest. 
The same dull orb, with its uncounted graves, 
Kingdoms in ruin, mighty cities hid 
In desert sands, and others springing up. 
Like destiny to share. They weep o'er all. 
And glowing far and tremulously bright. 
They seem the tears of angels, shed above 
This lost and wasted world, and by their light, 
Sad, purely spiritual, and meek with love, 
Like the full eye of charity, to win. 
While weeping o'er, the fallen, from the dust 
To their eternal light and quietude. 

This city spreads below me, dull and black, 
Its houses crowded, and confusedly blent 
In one dim mass ; its hum is hushed ; its lights 
Are gone, save yonder lamp, that casts a glare, 
Wav'ring and weak, upon the snowy couch 
Where wasted man is sinking to the grave. 
While sadly weeping stand his friends around. 
Or steal like spirits through the dismal room. 
Awed by the might of death, or as they fear 
To fright the presence of eternal sleep 



64 POEMS, 

From the weak lids that tremble o'er the eyes 
Hollow with agony, where faintly burns 
The fading glow of life. 

And now the stars 
Look silently upon the few that watch, 
Not sleep, away the night, like me denied 
To rest by pain ; and on the sleep of those 
More blest than I, the pure, the innocent, 
Young in existence, old in hope and joy, 
That soon will fly, and leave them desolate. 
Their dreams are beautiful, because unlike 
The life they soon must wake to ; and the sad, 
Cheered by the visions of the past, are glad 
Their crush'd and tortured spirits now can soar 
From life, that over-fill'd and gloomy grave, 
Where myriads rot. Death yields his phantoms now 
To lull, to soothe, perchance to sear, the heart 
Of guiltiness, with an undying pang, 
That, worm-like, wastes beneath the seeming calm. 
Amid the host of hearts that beat below, 
None have a pulse for me. I stand alone, 
Among my kind ; no human blood doth change 
Its flow at my approach, no bosom warms. 
All, all are cold to me ; my spirit bends, . 
Like a lone willow, o'er her monument, 
Who, living, would have loved me ; naught may lift, 
Save the wild tempests, from her grave my thoughts. 
So young, and yet so friendless, sad, am I ! 
And yet I weep not ; all my joys are gone. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 65 

And friends shrink from me, as retainers from 
An empty board where once they feasted. Time 
Will deepen my ah^eady dismal lot, 
For I shall live, I dread, to weak old age. 
The heart that's blighted in the spring of youth 
Clings longest to the withered bough of life. 
Existence pledges me no future bhss. 
And careless as an unloved child may listen 
Unto a father's will, unmoved I hear 
Her poor bequests, among the eager cold. 
When I am old and withered, when decay 
Of my gray hairs shall weave a winding sheet 
O'er blighted hopes and melancholy thoughts. 
That die away, I shall be all alone ; 
And when I sink into my humble grave, 
None will weep o'er me, none remember me. 
My parents will be dust ; they only love me :— 
A dark foreboding — yet my soul can bear 
Its gloom, nor murmur ; victor, by resolve. 
And pride that stoops not o'er unfriendly fate. 
4* 



66 TOEMS, 






'T rs idle thus to weep o'er those 

Who sleep within the silent tomb, 
No dream to startle from repose 

And break the calm eternal gloom ; 
No doubt of hearts once tried and dear ; 

No love to direst hatred turned ; 
No future dread to shake with fear, 

No grief o'er young delights inurned ; 

II. 

No lovely past to wake regret 

For all we never more may hold ; 
Whose beauty beams when life has set. 

To mock, to madden — dead and cold. 
No ! all is peace where they recline, 

Their rest is deep as it is still ; 
There searing passions cease to shine, 

Nor languor more the heart may chill. 



m 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 67 

III. 

Theirs ne'er can be that dreadest fate, 

To look on deserts (all alone) 
Dull, boundless, burning, desolate, 

Without one tried and trusted one ; 
To look o'er days when friends were near, 

To smile on joy, or soothe in woe, 
Then turn and pour the gushing tear 

On graves where they are lying low. 



The dead are blest — he cursed alone, 

That solitary being left 
With smouldering heart when all are gone, 

Of hope, of rapture, both bereft ; 
Who sits beside the ashes gray 

Of cold and perish'd passion, where 
Amid the darkness phantoms play 

And float upon the whirling air. 



The clouds are driving dark and fast, 

And low before the wintry gale, 
And groaning in the hollow blast, 

The leafless forest pours its wail. 
O'er yonder distant hill the glare 

Of clouded day yet redly shines, 
And faintly lights the stormy air 

That moans among the distant pinsB, 



68 POEMS, 

VI. 

The vale that stretches far beneath 

No more autumnal beauty hath ; 
Dark branches bow unto the breath 

That sweeps along them in its wrath. 
It is a fearful hour to roam — 

The wild wind whistles through my hair ; 
But where can sorrow find a home ? 

The darkness mates with my despair. 

VII. 

Too long amid the crowd I sought 

Society, but sought in vain — 
Nor kindred heart nor genial thought 

To cheer my grief, to soothe my pain — 
All hollow, selfish, cold, and loud ; 

I lent my voice to swell the cry. 
Alas ! the heart amid a crowd 

May droop and pine for sympathy. 

VIII. 

At this dark hour when slowly dies 

The stormy day, the loved, the lost 
Before my startled vision rise, 

Like clouds around my spirit tost. 
In vain the lovely shades I flee. 

Since demons in their guise pursue ; 
Though others vainly strive to see, 

They meet my heart, they mock my view. 






BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 
IX. 

With hasty steps I fly in vain 

Along the dark and dizzy peaks, 
Nor cools the air my burning brain ; 

In every gust a phantom shrieks. 
Although my steps be swift and wild, 

Yet deadly pangs assail my breast ; 
My sorrow is no froward child, 

That I may walk it into rest. 



How oft, when sadly hoots the owl, 

And from the clouded west the sun 
Sinks o'er yon hill, where tempests howl, 

I groaning walk, but walk alone ! 
And tears would flow, if I could weep. 

When the departing sun I see 
From thronging clouds descend to sleep, 

And leave the night and life to me. 

XT. 

I've cursed the morning as it came 

O'er yonder far and fading hill, 
To mock with its undying flame 

My life, dark, desolate, and chill : 
It gilt the sullen cloud on high. 

It warm'd the earth and kindled air ; 
It shone on my reluctant eye, 

But left my heart to its despair. 



70 POEMS, 



'*ir sDiDrdiEi^ Miim m'^'sj' 



I SOUGHT her side with careless tread, 
.And silence dwelt within the room ; 

I bent me o'er the lovely dead — 
I felt, but could not weep her doom. 

The earth was waste, the sky was gloom- 
Gone was my day-beam's fading light ; 

It waited but the yawning tomb 

To close and leave me blackest night. 



II. 

Fast, fast and freely fell the tears 

From stranger groups that gathered nigh ; 
The playmate of her younger years 

Looked on alone with tearless eye. 
I bent me o'er her snowy couch, 

I marked her calm unchanging brow, 
I clasp'd her hand — unfelt my touch — 

Her icy fingers chill me now. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 71 

III. 

Nor groan nor sigh escaped my breast, 

Nor swam my frenzied eye, to gaze 
Upon the long undreaming rest 

Of her who blest my better days. 
Her brow was calm, though pale and cold. 

Her eyes were closed in peaceful sleep ; 
Her marble features' lovely mould 

So softly shone I could not weep. 

IV. 

A passing breeze swept moaning by,' 

And faintly waved her silken hair, 
And seemed to wail with tender sigh 

The chillness of a cheek so fair. 
I held my breath lest I should break 

The pangless slumber of the dead, 
And selfish groans on sorrow wake 

A heart whose every grief had fled. 

V. 

Each ill of life forgotten, she 

Seemed, pure and pale, to dream in peace, 
And sleep like placid infancy ; — 

Oh ! who would bid such slumber cease ? 
As some white cloud, when wept away 

Its tears and darkness, shines on high 
Pure, calm and still, that being lay, 

In peace and beauty, 'neath my eye. 



72 POEM-, 



VI. 



For her no torture wrung my brain ; 

But, oh ! though calmly fix'd my brow, 
An endless gloom, a hopeless pain, 

Was on my heart, is on it now :— 
Long vanish'd hours of hope and light — 

Our childhood's old and happy home — 
Departed day — the starless night — 

The lovely past — my lonely doom. 

VII. 

The memories we loved to share 

Upon my spirit's vision shone, 
And wild with madness and despair, 

I felt and knew I was alone. 
She lived no more — the one I sought ; 

The cheerless future knew her not, 
And faint and sick, each drooping thought 

Lay crushed beneath my lonely lot. 

VITI. 

As one who drifts along the wave. 

Lifts from the wreck his aching eye 
In vain, for some white sail to save 

From rolling wave and stormy sky, 
I gaze upon my lonely days ; 

But all unblest their billows roll ; 
Thou mad'st them lovely to my gaze. 

Sweet sister of my stricken soul. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 73 



Like yonder far expiring beam 

That shines along the clouded west, 
Through driving mist, with sombre gleam ; 

Departed raptures light my breast : 
They win but to distract ; oh ! vain 

Their far and fading glories burn, 
Through sorrow's dark and wintry rain, 

And shrieking winds, o'er Beauty's urn. 



I stoopM, and silently I prest 

My lip, too coldly met, to thine ; 
The first, last time, oh ! dearest, best ! 

Thy lips have coldly greeted mine. 
The time is o'er, and thou art fled, 

But life must fail, and reason flee, 
Before this heart forget its dead, 

Or cease to bleed, and bleed for thee. 



74 POEMS, 



£(? rr ^ A ^^1? (TTin^Aora f^^^^ftr?)^ 



U SAW f IHAf 



I SAW that form — it was too fair 

For aught of earth — and thought 
'T would 'scape the bhght consuming here, 

By every moment brought. 
I turned above my anxious view, 

And marked the planets bright, 
Serenely glidmg o'er the blue, 

In mild, eternal light. 



II. 

I thought that thou, my lovely one. 

Like them would 'scape decay, 
To bless till life and night were done, 

Then meekly melt away. 
Nor many an orb of thrilling glow, 

I marked desert its place, 
Drawn thence by Heaven, to bless, as thou, 

The angels with its grace. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 75 



III. 



The evening beams that saw us part, 

Were soon behind the wave ; 
And darkness gathered o'er my heart — 

The darkness of the grave. 
Thy floating hair, that brightly caught 

The Hngering rays that fell, 
Waved, though the truth we little thought, 

A long — a last farewell. 



IV. 



Upon that shore no longer beams 

Thy beauty ; but a tomb 
Far o'er the rolling water gleams — 

The witness of thy doom. 
Upon my heart gay hopes no more 

Their wonted beauty shed ; 
Cares darkly weigh my spirit o'er, 

As tombs upon the dead. 



The blast that laid thee with the dead, 

With dark, destroying wing, 
Upon my tree of life has sped — 

It stands a withered thing. 
When rapture's blighted blooms depart, 

Regret is left behind, 
To fill with bitterness the heart — 

With lethargy the mind. 



76 POEMS, 

VI. 

As cold, and ah ! as lonely too, 

As is the wandering wave, 
That shivers into icy dew 

Beneath thy lowly grave. 
The homeless thoughts that darkly roll 

Around thy tomb in vain — 
That, baffled, o'er my gloomy soul 

Their icy showers rain. 



Oh, couldst thou live again to bless — 

But since this hope's denied, 
Soon may I share thy nothingness, 

And slumber by thy side. 
Far better than my life, the grave : 

There, all unknown the past, 
I may not hear the tempests rave. 

Nor bow before the blast. 

viir. 

O'er mem'ry's cold and fading skies. 

My thoughts of dark despair 
Glide on before my spirit's eyes. 

Like ravens flitting there. 
They sweep o'er desolation's breast ; 

They sail through boundless gloom- 
Their sole and fearful place of rest. 

The pale and icy tomb. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 77 

IX. 

Like sable clouds that wing the air, 

When slowly dies the day, 
And vainly weep, but win not there 

The fading hues to stay — ■ 
The gloomy thoughts of vain regret, 

That weep around the pall, 
Where brightest beams of beauty set, 

That nothing may recall. 



Hushed are my hopes in death's repose, 

I live with memories ; 
'Tis better far to sleep with those, 

Than watch and weep with these. 
None care for me — I care for none ; 

My love is for the dead : 
'Tis time the dream of life was o'er — 

Its only charm has fled. 

XI. 

When all the friends of life are gone, 

When all its hopes depart ; 
When beat the wintry storms upon 

A chilled and cheerless heart ; 
Oh, welcome then the quiet tomb. 

That gives the wand'rer rest : 
Thus all unlighted is my gloom, 

Thus lonely is my breast. 



78 POEMS, 



Now slowly o'er the sky, 
Like lonely wanderers o'er an azure waste, 
The fleecy clouds in ghostly silence fly, 

Borne on the autumn blast. 

Chill from the wastes of snow. 
The wind, with many a low and lengthened sigh, 
As though it grieved to lay the lovely low, 

Sweeps wildly moaning by. 

Borne on its arctic breath, 
Are heard the sigh and rustle of the leaf; 
A mournful melody, that speaks of death ; 

A music — but of grief. ^ 

And far and faintly heard, 
As one who sings amid a house of woe, 
Till voice is hushed by memory, the bird 

Chants brokenly and low. 

On every waving bough, 
Red leaves and yellow, but of sadd'ning bloom, 
For we can read decay in all their glow, 

Yield gently to their doom. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 79 

No more to summer air, 
In tender verdure, tremulous they breathe 
Their joyous whispers — how can they, while sere 

Their comrades drop beneath ? 

With every sweeping gale. 
Loosed from the boughs, descends a rustling shower, 
While the lone leaves above, fair wrecks and frail, 

Await their coming hour. 

A chilling breath sweeps by ; 
They tremble to its low and mournful call, 
Then drop away with faint and passing sigh : 

So busy man must fall. 

Sad leaves ! ye bring to mind 
Her who, when last it was my lot to see 
Your fair precursors fading in the wind, 

Here musing roamed with me. 

And in your dying hue. 
Ye well remind me of her cheeks, whose bloom 
Was brightest glowing to my raptured view, 

When gathered to the tomb. 

And soft and dewy eyes 
Were hers, the home where innocence and love 
Were throned in light, as in the azure skies 

That beauteous bend above. 



80 POEMS, 

I saw yon budding wave 
Above her head, as here 'twas ours to roam ; 
She viewed your birth — ye wither o'er the grave. 

That now must be her home. 

There gathered by the gale, 
That passing pours, Uke mournful memory 
O'er withered joys, a low and hollow wail, 

Lifeless and brown ye lie. 

Oh, that relenting fate, 
Now, while all other withered things are laid 
To rest, would grant this bosom desolate 

A grave wherein to fade. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 81 






Though fate of all others bereaves me, 

My soul to that fate is resigned ; 
Though the last star my destiny gives me 

Goes out in the gloom of my mind. 
I shrink not from sorrow, nor fear it, 

Though my bosom is bare to the blast ; 
While thy spirit is beaming to cheer it. 

Existence can ne'er be a waste. 



ti. 



Though all others in sorrow may fly me, 

I ask not a smile or a tear ; 
I am blest until fate shall deny me 

The love of thy spirit to share. 
'Tis a beam that was born out of sadness ? 

It dawned when all others had set ; 
And beguiling my soul from its madness. 

Burns lofty and beautiful yet. 



82 POEMS, 

III. 

The mariners dread not, nor tremble, 

Though the stars from the firmament wane. 
When the clouds in their darkness assemble, 

And the wind sweeps the desolate main ; 
They care not what beams are denied them. 

As on o'er the waters they roam, 
If their pole-star will steadily guide them. 

And point out their track o'er the foam. 

IV. 

Of the love of all others I'm careless, 

I would see not, if granted their light ; 
In the storm and the darkness I'm fearless, 

If thy spirit yet beacons the night. 
My thoughts never bow them despairing, 

While that quenchless and beautiful ray. 
In the light of its purity cheering, 

Sheds brightness and peace on their w^ay. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 83 



The hopes of youth that flowed ahead new happi- 
ness to find — 

That, a fountain full of gladness, played within my 
glowing mind — 

Have shrunk before the wasting beam ; and bar- 
ren now, and lone, 

Is the blighted bosom whence each bliss and dream 
of bhss is gone. 

Like blushing buds that wildly twine around a hid- 
den tomb, 

Are the tender joys of youth that veil the years of 
coming gloom. 

Alas ! too soon the heedless hand hath torn the 
blooms away, 

And hath reached the stone that coldly shields the 
dull and quiet clay. 

I've seen the one I madly loved, within the grave at 

rest ; 
Still tearfully and sadly beams her beauty o'er my 

breast. 



84 POEMS, 

The hope is dead, the wish is there, and only burns 

to prey,— 
Like a lone, neglected flame within, it wastes me 

day by day. 

"When the sun that lighted earth and sky, has van- 
ished through the night. 

Still faintly, in the glowing stars, we view his 
sunken light. 

So lives her loveliness to me ; but though 'tis pure 
and fair, 

It only serves to gild within each big and burning 
tear. 

Though my eye and lip may speak delight, my 

lonely spirit feels 
The hollowness that lurks beneath the smile that 

joy reveals ; 
Like flashes wildly bright, that we in northern skies 

behold — 
While the earth, in darkness veil'd the while, is 

sleeping still and cold. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 86 



fmm^ IEA!?!E^WIE®WS mSBirilMdS. 



Those rapturous meetings 

Of pleasure and love, 
Those passionate greetings, 

Not long did we prove. 
The charms that I cherished, 

Where, where are they now ? 
Too quickly they perished, 

And left me to woe. 

II. 

As some stricken mother. 

Her child being dead. 
Can think of no other, 

But that which is fled ; 
Though lost ere an hour. 

Had waked it on life, 
A beautiful flower 

Whose being was brief. 

III. 
With shadowy sorrow, 

Vague, dreamy, yet sad, 
That looks to the morrow, 

And hopes to be glad : 



86 POEMS, 



Yet cannot forget, 
What briefly it knew. 

Such, such the regret 
I lavish on you. 



©MAMS, 

As a star to the mariner gleams, 

When darkly he drifts o'er the tide. 
Dispelling the night as it beams, 

And burning in beauty to guide ; 
Thy spirit of loveliness rose 

On the turbulent wave of my life, 
And seemed, from its lofty repose, 

To woo me from sorrow and strife. 

I steered as the ship o'er the foam. 

To the land that it pointed to me ; 
I thought it would lead to a home. 

Where beauty and pleasure would be. 
It lead, I obeyed, and I stand, 

Now its lustre has vanished in gloom, 
On a lonely and desolate land, 

And the home of its gift is a tomb. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 87 



fMffi WAMMMH, 



A wand'rer long, his fate to roam 

Through many a far and foreign clime, 
He sought again his childhood's home, 

To dream of the olden time. 
But stranger faces met him there — 

He turned him to the neighb'ring shade, 
To hide his weakness and despair, 

Where a merry boy he played. 

TI. 

He laid him 'neath the poplar tree, 

Where often he had lain before, 
When hope was bright in heart and eye, 

As the sky that bent him o'er. 
The crystal runnel 'plained hard by. 

The dying leaves did moan above ; 
The wind flew o'er with many a sigh, 

Like the tones of by-gone love. 



A lingering bird a blithesome note 
Essayed in vain ; for faint and low. 

It changed within his swelling throat 
To a dying tone of woe. 



88 POEMS, 

The bird was sadden'd, gazing on 
The perished bud, the withered leaf: 

The wand'rer thought of days by-gone. 
And wept in hopeless grief. 

IV. 

He slowly turned his streaming eye 

Upon the golden leaves that hung 
In thinning clusters 'neath the sky, 

Where mournfully they sung. 
He thought, as withered from his gaze, 

They dropp'd away — so green whilome- 
Of the young and bright of other days, 

Who blest his boyhood's home. 

V. 

He bent, and thinking of the dead, 

Fast, big, and bitter tears he wept ; 
The leaves and breezes overhead, 

The while their moaning kept. 
With wasted limbs and blighted aim, 

With heavy step and weary breast, 
His wand'rings o'er, the morn he came, 

'Mid the friends of youth to rest. 

VI. 

But all were gone ; and pale and worn, 
With trembling hand he dried the tear; 

His heart was crushed with all he'd borne. 
And with all he had to bear. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 80 

He turned him from his father's hearth ; 

He turned him from his mother's tomb ; 
And the wand'rer felt, on this wide earth, 

He had no more a home. 



Mlio 



I WOULD ever have thee by me, 

Thou art life and more to me ; 
And sorrow comes not nigh me, 

If I am close to thee. 
But chase the shade of sadness 

From thy radiant eye and brow ; 
For thy look of love and gladness 

Is the only light I know. 

II. 

There are buds in beauty blooming, 

If a cloud in passing veil 
The sun, its lustre glooming. 

That wither, droop, and pale. 
So when a passing sorrow 

Thy spirit's beam may shade. 
My hopes no light can borrow 

From their sun, but droop and fade. 
5* 



90 POEMfc!. 



III. 



What the sun's reviving splendor 

Gives to flowers when they pine, 
Thy bright'ning smile may render 

To these drooping hopes of mine. 
Then chase the shade of sadness 

From thy radiant eye and brow ; 
For thy look of love and gladness 

Is the only light I know. 



!FAmffiWIglI.tt.. 



When friends who love, a time must part, 

Though deep their sorrow, faint their sighs, 
Though coldly sink each weary heart, 

And warring passions fiercely rise : 
Though wild with woe their streaming eyes, 

Through tears of deathless love they tell ; 
And paling lips, whose beauty flies. 

Breathe mournful music to farewell. 



II. 



And still through distance borne away, 
And less'ning o'er the ocean foam, 

Love's trembling hand, as cold as clay. 
Yet waves the wand'rer from his home. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 91 

He feels, howe'er his steps may roam, 
For him one faithful heart will swell ; 

And eyes grow bright when he shall come, 
That darkened o'er his last farewell, 

III. 

Not so, not so, the parting hour, 

My quivering lip unheeded sighed ; 
Though both were chill, my heart had power 

Alone to throb the dead beside. 
Unanswered by my lifeless bride, 

My frenzied gaze — my tears that fell — 
My lip that tried, but vainly tried. 

To breathe a long — a last farewell, 

IV. 

! clasped her fondly to my breast — 

No throb of love m.y bosom met ; 
My lip to hers I madly prest. 

But cold her kiss — it chills me yet. 
Her cheeks were pale, with tear-drops wet, 

Th« only tears they were that fell ; 
Her eyes were closed, their lustre set, 

That else had fondly looked farewell. 



Mine was the only hand that v^^aved — 
The only heaving breast that bled ; 

And mine the groans and shrieks that raved 
All vainly o'er the lovely dead. 



92 POEMS, 



The notes that told her spirit fled, 
And slowly pealed her parting knell. 

The mourner's sob, and heavy tread, 
Were all that answered my farewell. 



I. 

Well, thou art in thy grave, at rest. 
And I am in the world alone ; 

The flow'ry turf is on thy breast, 
A colder weight upon my own ; 

II. 

A weight of lone and loveless years. 
Without a hope to break the gloom — 

Without a heart whose friendship cheers 
And lights the pathway to the tomb. 

III. 

Thine is the dark, undreaming sleep- 
Without a throb — without a start ; 

And mine the woe that cannot w^eep. 
But silently consumes the heart. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 9S 



WWME IDAY US IfAlBHM®. 



When day is fading from the west, 

And flowers are bright with early dew ; 
When softness steals upon the breast 

That mourns the dying hght to view ; 
When winds are sighing, faint and low ; 

When waters give a clearer wail ; 
When rising stars begin to glow. 

Oh, meet me in yon blooming vale— ■ 



II. 

That I may whisper in thy ear, 

And on thy lip of beauty sigh, 
The words which thou wilt blush to hear, 

And answer with a tearful eye. 
Thy throbbing bosom prest to mine — 

The tender clasp — the lingering kiss ; 
While as the evening rays combine, 

Our heart f shall mutely blend in bliss. 



94 POEMS. 



nr. 



Thou'st seen the mother-bird, how blest, 

To feel her brood, when sleeping warm 
Within the circlet of her nest, 

Beneath her fondly pressing form : 
A wilder joy will stir my breast, 

To feel thy bosom's trusting swell 
Heave to my own, then trembling rest, 

As on my heart it loves to dw^ell. 



S!rAK2A§. 



Mine is the dull and silent gloom, 

Nor smiles may gild, nor passion break ; 
The sullen pain, the dreary doom ; 

The troubled sleep, that cannot wake : 
My woes are as the clouds on high, 

Amid the close and heated air, 
That wither earth, and pall the sky, 

Nor shed below a fresh'ning tear. 

Above, around me, all is night, 

And yet I cannot sink to rest, 
Though not a star of lofty light 

Dispels the shadow o'er my breast ; 
'Twill darken with my life's decline — 

'Twill deepen with my coming years : 
The with'ring gloom of grief is mine, 

But not the freshness of its tears. 



RY A SOUTH CAKULINIAN. 95 



f ® mAISYo 



Oh ! Mary, I can ne'er forget 

That hour beneath the starry skies, 
When first our loving hps were met, 

When first we mingled joyous sighs. 
My broken words revealed, to thee 

The wild emotions of my breast ; 
And though thy lips were mute to me, 

Thy yielding bosom all confest. 



The sigh, the kiss, that met my own. 

The trust of love and rapture told ; 
Thy heart beat wildly in its zone — 

That zone my arms encircling fold. 
The watching stars were bright above, 

But all unseen their lofty light ; 
Around them heaven, around us love — 

Oh ! blessed be that hour of night. 

III. 
Thine eyes with thrilling look no more 

Explored the blue and starry sky, 
To meet the planets beaming o'er. 

While rose above thy tender sigh— 



96 POEMS, 



But sunk upon my heaving breast 

Thy head, forgetting earth and heaven, 

And thou and I, oh ! both v^^ere blest — 
Thy hps, thy heart, to me were given. 



IV 



Each nightly dream, each thought of mine, 

The hopes that smile on days to be — 
Thine is the thought, the dream is thine," 

My hopes are all for love and thee. 
Though time and fate may bid us part. 

Those w^atching stars will never see 
The hour arrive that tears my heart, 

Oh ! Mary, dear, from thine and thee. 



TMffi m^m ffMAff (DMffiig (smiLW 



The songs that once could soothe, no more 

Delight and peace impart ; 
The notes that were a joy before, 

Are madness to my heart ; 
The lips that gave them melody 

Have faded from their bloom. 
And coldly, darkly, silently, 

They moulder in the tomb. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 97 



Oh ! wonder not that while I hear 

Thy song, my cheek should pale ; 
It seems above the bright and dear, 

A soft and fitting wail ; 
'Tis twined in thought with one who ne'er 

Again may sing to me, 
Whose heart was fond, whose brow was fair, 

As heart or brow could be. 



HI. 

And as thou sing'st, before my eyes 

A form of beauty floats ; 
And other days to mock me rise 

Upon thy thrilling notes : 
The hopes — but what avails it now 

Those phantoms to recall ? — 
Enough for me to feel, to know 

Them blighted, blacken'd, all ! 

IV. 

The wand'ring thought, the sicken'd sense, 

These, these, are mine alone ; 
The sleepless torture, dark, intense — 

My bosom is its throne : 
The wish that ne'er to hope may grow — 

The voice I cannot still — 
The lip that blooms to mock me now — 

The void that nought may fill. 



98 POEAIC 



Her eyes are gazing on me now. 

Her liquid tones I hear ; — 
There's madness burning 'neath my brow- 

And in my heart despair : 
Oh ! could I weep, she was so dear. 

My soul w^ould not forget ; 
But vainly do I beg a tear — 

I weep not, but regret. 



Who ever saw at night 

O'er the deep blue, 
A star of falling light 

That lustre threw — 
Nor wished to fix its ray 

So bright ? but, ah ! in vani— 
It quickly dies away. 

Nor glows again. 

Who ever looked upon 

Some being fair. 
Where youth and beauty shone, 

Pure, bright, and clear — 
Nor yearned to give her rays 

Immortal life and light, 
As like the meteor blaze 

She fades in night ? 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 99 

But either wish is vain, 

As well I know ; 
The end of hope is pain — 

Of rapture, woe : — 
The star in night must set, 

And beauty in the tomb, 
To leave behind regret, 

Despair, and gloom. 



I'Mll IPAm^ttMdS. 



When hearts that love must sever, 

Though dark the hour and dread the pain, 
They know 'tis not forever ; 

Hope whispers, " Ye shall meet again !" 
Though blackest clouds are spreading 

O'er them, the gleam of future hours, 
When they shall meet, is shedding 

Light o'er their sorrow's passing showers. 

ir. 
But there's another parting. 

Where Death and Sorrow blend their gloom- 
Where Hope no ray is darting 

Across the chill and murky tomb ; 



100 POEMS, 

The tears that then are faUing 

No gleam of distant joy may Hght ; 

All lonely and appalling 

The darkness to the mourner's sight. 

III. 

No star of future promise 

To break the blank of endless woe ; 
The past is riven from us — 

Each moment chills its dying glow. 
Each day will further bear us 

From all that joy to us have been ; 
Time brings them not anear us, 

A dark eternity between. 



II>©¥1EID IEIA¥]S IflLSin). 

'Tis pleasant when the loved have fled 
Away from earth and woe, to dream 

They light the flowery path we tread 
At morning, as a summer beam ; 

II- 
To think, when o'er the brook reclin'd, 

We hear around us whispers low. 
They speak to us in balmy wind. 

Or from the crystal water's flow ; 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 101 



IT[. 



To dream, when faint with woe and care 
We droop beneath the burning sky, 

They send to us the fresh'ning air, 
That cheering sweeps serenely by. 



IV. 



It is a bright inspiring dream. 

When with a hopeless woe oppressed, 
We watch a star of spotless beam 

Steal forth from heaven's azure breast ; 



And while we mark its glowing rays. 

And brighter thoughts and hopes are ours, 

To think their love illumes the blaze 
To guide us to their deathless bowers. 

VI. 

But better far when we would stray 
With ear beguiled and cheated eye, 

Along the bright delusive way 
That ends in woe and infamy, 

VII 

To think they'll see and suffer pain, 
Then turn us from the paths of woe, 

And deem the heart's approving strain 
The grateful thanks that they bestow. 



102 POEMS, 



Mmm. 

Oh ! that we, like Hero, should 

Kindle o'er destruction's billow 
Fires of love to light the good 

On to death's undreaming pillow ; 
While for them we fondly wait, 

Eager for their dear caressing — 
They must yield them to their fate, 

We must part with every blessing. 

They are dead, and we are left 

To the memories that fright us — 
Vanished hope and joy bereft, 

Tears that burn and thoughts that blight us. 
Loneliness and night above 

And around us, dark and chilling ; 
Ashes of departed love 

With despair the bosom filling. 

Can we win them from the grave ? 

From the past, a dreary river ? 
Memory can part the wave 

Though it makes her shriek and shiver. 
What avails it ? dead and chill 

Are the beings in it sleeping. 
They would rnock, serene and still, 

Idle sighs unheeded weeping. 



BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 103 



Flowers I bid not to grow 

Above the still home of thy rest, 
For loveliest blossoms I know 

Will spring from the turf o'er thy breast. 
Thine eye'll wake the violet blue 

Thy lip give its tint to the rose, 
Thy brow lend the lily its hue, 

And their sweetness thy spirit disclose. 

Tears I command not to flow 

Above the calm couch of thy sleep, 
For beauty and sorrow shall bow 

O'er the home of thine ashes and weep. 
When virtue and loveliness die. 

Ah ! many a mourner they have ; 
Though earth wept them not, the blue sky 

Would freshen the turf o'er their grave. 

Beams I invoke not to play 

Around thee : a star full of light 
Will e'er have a radiant way. 

Itself ever stainless and bright. 
Pure, beautiful, beamest thou now 

'Mid spirits the fairest and best — 
Thy body where flowers must grow, 

Thy soul with the lovely and blest. 



POEMS, BY A SOUTH CAROLINIAN. 104 



I. 

Like lovely faces beaming 

Before the soul in sleep, 
That mem'ry lends us dreaming. 

That glad then leave to v^eep, 
Were all my raptures cherished, 

Now gathered to the tomb : 
They shone, they blest, they perish'd — 

I woke to woe and gloom. 

II. 

Vain as the lustre shining 

On Beauty's cheek when dead, 
That only wakes repining, 

Like all the bright when fled. 
The glow of rapture faded, 

A chill, unchanging bloom. 
That mem'ry shows us shaded 

By darkness and the tomb. 



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